14: Calculated Risks

Now that Helena had opened up the wondrous world of FaceTime to her parents, they were taking full advantage of the newfound channel of communication.

"You were finally at the top of your career, and you quit your job," her father griped. She listened to this from her living room couch, trying to resist rolling her eyes. Instead, she held her phone in front of her. The only indication of her irritation was in her pursed lips.

"Joe," her mom reproached him in the background. Celia was a more patient woman.

"Just help me understand that," he said. "I didn't complain when you didn't come home for the holidays. Because I knew you were working towards your career, making something of your life. But now?"

Her father's disappointment stung, as it always did, as she knew it would. For once, Helena didn't have anything to say.

"Well, this could be an opportunity for her to find a job closer to home," Celia said. She turned her imploring eyes on Helena. "You only have one family, mi amor. And what's more important: money, or family?"

"I understand what you're saying, Mom, but I need to stay in New York," Helena replied.

They didn't understand. Going back to Miami was like going backwards in time, to a life and version of herself that no longer existed.

And yet, she didn't have any other ideas either. She just knew that staying in New York was the only decision that felt right.

"The way she's going, she's gonna waste her life," Joe muttered. Celia tried to shush him, but that was the final straw for Helena.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she said. "Sorry I'm such a fuck-up."

That landed them all in silence for a few painful moments. After which, her dad got up and left, claiming he needed to check on the restaurant. Celia tried to pacify, explaining that the restaurant your parents owned was now mostly being run by Helena's uncle, Joe's younger brother, and his kids.

"With your father's arthritis, he can't work the dough like he used to," Celia explained. "And with my back problems…it just made sense for us to step back. It's still in the family, so that's what counts."

Helena nodded at that. It made sense; her parents were getting older, and running a restaurant was a huge task.

"Mom, for the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do," she said. Celia sighed, but she gave her daughter a smile.

"You've always been smart, resourceful, a planner. You put yourself through college, moved to New York on your own," she said.

Well, after high school, Helena had moved to New York with Becca at her side. They'd roomed together all through college. They'd only separated when Becca moved in with Billy Butcher.

"But life derails," Celia continued, interrupting Helena's thoughts. "All you can do is make a new plan—hopefully one that includes calling your mother. Whenever the Lord decides to take me, I should hope that I get to hear your voice more often until then."

Helena smiled. There really was nothing like a guilt-trip from her Catholic mother. She was about to end the call when her father wandered back in.

"Are you gonna say goodbye to your daughter?" Celia said pointedly at him. Her husband was certainly not immune to her antics either. He sighed and met Helena's eyes in the video call.

"Bye, Dad," she said civilly. He was about to reply, when Helena noticed Butcher entering the living room from the corner of her eye. He passed behind where she was sitting on the lounge chair.

"Hey, babe," she said, beckoning him over with a hand. Explaining that she was dating Billy Butcher, Becca's former husband, had been a…trying conversation. Joe had much to say on the subject, but for the past few weeks, Helena had been trying to get them to come around during calls like this.

Butcher, for his part, tolerated it. Though he wouldn't admit it, she knew talking to her parents made him uncomfortable.

Still, he obliged her and leaned down so her parents could see him in the frame.

"Ey there, Mr. Flores. Celia, lookin' lovely as always," he charmed. Helena's lips curved in a smile as her mother smiled and greeted him back warmly.

Joe, however, remained more or less stoic.

"Billy," he greeted. Then, with a raised brow, "Haven't ended up in any more news headlines, have you?"

He hadn't missed how Butcher's name and face had been plastered across the media as a criminal last year. But Helena and Butcher had explained, at least, that it had been Vought's attempts to cover their own sins by vilifying Butcher and his friends.

"Not this year, Gov," Butcher replied, quirking a smile. "But it's early."

Helena swatted him (mostly playful, but also warning him with her eyes).

"I'm sure," Joe said dryly. "Look. Whatever you're into, or used to be into, I don't care. Just…don't let my daughter get hurt."

Helena took issue with this. She opened her mouth to offer a hot retort, but with a knowing glance, Butcher beat her to it.

"Your daughter can take care of herself just fine," he said. She looked over at him, smiling a little.

"Then don't give her a reason to do so," Joe said.

Butcher met her father's eyes, and he nodded. "On that, you have my word."

Sensing that was a good moment to end on, Helena then said goodbye to her parents and finished the call. Butcher let out a breath and went to sit on the couch beside her lounge chair, so she got up and joined him, taking a comfortable seat in his lap.

"Ello," he murmured. His arms closed around her comfortably. She raised a hand to his bearded cheek and swiped her thumb across his skin.

"We're both getting bored here," she said. Upstate New York was safer than the city, but that was also kind of the problem.

"I want to take Hughie's offer, consulting for Supe Affairs," she said.

Butcher made a sound of annoyance, tipping his head back. They'd had this conversation before.

"I want to do something that matters, Billy. Something I can be proud of," she said. He raised his head with a frown.

"You wanna fuck up everything you've got going here?" he asked. "Do what you told your dad. Get a job online somewhere."

"Like what, stock trading?" Helena shot back. "Am I a middle-aged white guy?"

Despite himself, he smirked. "On behalf of middle-aged white men, that was uncalled for."

She scoffed. "Yeah, but you're special."

"Yet, still feel insulted."

Butcher then sighed heavily. "There's a whole world out there full of jobs. You ain't gotta go back to all that."

"I know a lot about Vought's inner workings," Helena argued. "I can help the S.A."

"Info I'm sure you gave to Mallory in exchange for this house," said Butcher.

Helena rose a brow. "I found the house myself, if you must know. But yes, she did point out a couple necessary upgrades."

Butcher nodded.

"Yeah, like that titanium fucking bunker downstairs," he said. "Not to mention every single wall in this house is lined with zinc. Do I really need to fucking remind you why that is?"

Helena frowned, but her silence conceded the point.

"What should happen the second some rat from Vought sees you havin' a little sit down with the enemy?" he said. "You think they're not gonna go back and check every email, every archive of footage, every trackable move you ever made?"

"Trackable, being the key word," she pointed out. "I used my burner phone—"

"You think they don't got screen time of you using that phone on their property?" he asked. "They have that clip of you and Homelander. That's motive."

Helena sighed and playfully covered his mouth with her hand. She rested further against him, and he tucked her against his chest, absently stroking her bare thigh. He enjoyed these little shorts she liked parading around in.

"All right, all right. I got it," she said. "…I'll just have to update my LinkedIn or something."

That afternoon, while Helena was busy looking for jobs, Butcher claimed he was going on a drive.

That drive took him a few hours into the city, to his favorite bar. It wasn't his favorite because of the overpriced beer, or the delightful locale. He frequented this particular bar because it was a trendy hangout for supes, with secret lounge behind the main establishment.

It was where he went to catch up on the latest gossip among supes. He knew what the headlines said (months and months of Homelander giving his apology tour. Some bullshit about falling in love with the "wrong woman.").

But Butcher wanted to keep his finger on the pulse here. He was tempted to call M.M., even Frenchie. But as far as he knew, M.M. was out for good. And Frenchie and Kimiko were working with Hughie, and by extension, with Victoria Neuman.

Another bureaucrat claiming to try and make a difference in this sorry shithole world.

So Butcher spent way too much on a simple beer while he collected snippets of conversation from nearby patrons—most of them supes. But it was the same drivel (A-Train still on his ass. The Deep writing a new book. Starlight gaining a massive following after Stormfront's public fall from grace).

Nothing of real consequence.

So a few hours later, he left and went to a real bar. Where the beer was essentially piss water, and the patrons were more pitiful than the cast of Cheers. And certainly, nobody knew his name.

He chose a small table in the back to nurse his whiskey, and he stared at it, hesitating to put it to his lips. Helena ran a tight ship in her home, with a locked liquor cabinet. He'd been clean and sober for the better part of a year…

He was still debating his decision on whether to take a sip when a hush went through the bar. Butcher didn't look up when Homelander sat across from him.

"William," he said, eyeing his appearance with amusement. "What fuckhole did you crawl out of?"

Butcher tilted his head. Then he leaned back in his seat to stare calmly back at the golden bastard.

"Should've known you couldn't stay away," Butcher said, quirking a brow. "What, you obsessed with me, mate?"

Homelander rolled his blue eyes. "Where's my son?"

Butcher only smirked, making Homelander sigh and tap the greasy table between them in irritation. They both knew he wouldn't tell him jack shit.

"Like a cockroach, just refusing to die," he muttered. Then, a vindictive smile curved his lips. "What've you been doing for the past year, besides wallowing?"

He didn't outwardly show it, but Butcher's temper snapped at that, rolling under his skin. He was tempted to ask—now that his Nazi fuck buddy was on ice—if Homelander was cornering women in broad daylight now, or just in meeting rooms and empty hallways.

"How's your mutilated, psycho, Nazi bitch doing?" Butcher asked. "You still visiting that charred stump when the cameras don't follow?"

He noticed Homelander gritting his teeth, jaw locking.

"They're just doling out pardons to anyone nowadays," he remarked.

Butcher smirked. He was tempted to pick up his glass, but he left it on the table, casually leaning back in his chair. If Homelander was going to kill him, he probably would've done it by now. If he was reading the prick correctly, he didn't yet want the game to end.

Homelander slowly stood to his full height. Grimacing at the greasiness of the table, he stole a nearby patron's napkin and wiped his hands.

"Be careful, William," he said. "Don't slip up."

Butcher was late for dinner, but he didn't tell Helena what happened. He didn't even tell her that he'd gone to the city.

That night, he was kept awake by tumultuous thoughts. She went to bed ahead of him, and near three in the morning, he found himself sitting at her bedside, contemplating what the hell he was going to do next.

"We're both getting bored," she'd said. But the reality was, he was going fucking stir crazy.

And seeing Homelander was like a douse of ice-cold water.

He had a decision to make, but it wouldn't be an easy one. Mallory had warned him not to come here for a reason…and now he finally understood.

If he went back into the game, pursuing Homelander, he ran the risk of this shit tracking back to Helena; of Homelander finding another opening to exploit—and using it against him.

The next morning over breakfast, Butcher sat across from her at the breakfast nook while she poured them each a cup of coffee.

"I need to go take care of something," he said. Helena looked up at him, noted his tone and the look in his eyes. She set down the carafe.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Better if you don't know. But won't take long."

"I don't like the sound of that." She went to his side and angled herself in front of him, so he looked at her in the eyes.

"What's going on?" she pressed.

He didn't really know what to tell her. Maybe part of him didn't exactly know what he was doing himself.

"Trust me?" he asked.

"With most things, yes," she admitted. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Eventually, she sighed.

"Okay," she relented. "Just…call me tomorrow. Let me know what's going on."

So she let him go.

She didn't get that call until two days later.

"Billy, what the fuck," she hissed after picking up the phone. She was at home, had been about to call Hughie when Butcher finally called her back. She'd been blowing up his phone for the past few hours.

"I'm not gonna be back for a while, Hel," he said with a sigh. She halted in her pacing through what had been, up until now, their shared bedroom.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"Just for a couple weeks. I'll come home between jobs," he said.

With everything she had within her, Helena tried to keep a clamp down on her temper so she didn't blow a fuse.

"If you don't tell me what the fuck is going on, Billy Butcher, God so help me—"

She heard him sigh heavily. Then came the admission.

"I joined Supe Affairs," he said.

Helena froze in shock. And anger.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" she shouted. "So you can risk your fucking life, but I can't? That's a hell of a double-standard."

"I'm sorry, but this is how it's gonna have to be," Butcher said. "You can't be seen with the likes of me here in the city. But if I stay put any longer, I'm gonna have a fucking aneurysm."

Helena made a sound of pure aggravation. She knew he was right; Vought still had too many eyes in the city, and if she was seen with Butcher, it would trigger suspicions. They'd go looking into the question: How long had they been in contact? And for what reason?

Then she'd be screwed.

"Fucking hell!" She released a weighty sigh and sat down hard on her bed. "I hate you right now, you know that right?"

Butcher chuckled. Damn him, it still warmed her to hear his voice.

"I'll be home soon," he promised.

This isn't fair, she wanted to say. Supe Affairs was her idea, even if it would get her into more trouble than Butcher…

"Hold on, did you just…" she trailed as she realized something. "You think of my place as your home now."

For a moment, there was a pause on the other line. But eventually, Butcher replied.

"Think I said something to that effect, didn't I?" he said cheekily.

But she reads the thread of discomfort in his tone. That told her he was telling the truth.

It quenched her ire (at least for the moment).

"Okay, Billy. We'll do it your way," she said in defeat.

"All right, love. I appreciate that," he said. And she actually felt the sincerity in his tone.

But after they hung up, the longer she thought about it, the more her resentment grew…

Her mom told her to find a new plan.

So she found another number in her contacts and placed a new call.

"Helena. Can't say I wasn't expecting this call," said Grace Mallory.

"Grace," Helena said. "You've done a lot for me already, but I need your help."

"What can I do for you?"

"I need a job."

There was only one job Grace was willing to give her. And that was how Helena found herself driving just a couple of hours west, where Grace was personally caring for Becca's son.

It made sense, if Helena thought about it. Grace was a widower, with seemingly no family left close enough for her to be with. And Helena knew that Grace felt a personal stake in Ryan's welfare, after Becca's death.

Helena felt the same way. So it felt right to go to that house and discuss the additional details of what Grace may need her to do.

But it was also nice to see that Ryan was doing well, all things considered. He remembered her from that day in the parking lot, on the edge of the park. The day his mother died.

"I was friends with your mom," Helena explained to him, while the three of them sat in the kitchen. Helena and Ryan played a game of checkers, since she didn't know how to play chess. That was Becca's game.

"When?" Ryan asked.

"Since we were kids," Helena replied with a smile. "Then we moved up to New York together for college. And we ended up working at Vought together—"

She hadn't meant to add that last bit, but Ryan looked up at you, sensing your hesitation.

"It's okay. Grace told me about Vought," he said with a frown. "That they're the reason Mom and I were alone, in that house."

Helena briefly glanced at Grace before she returned her attention to the game, and discreetly, she took inventory of her surroundings.

The house was large, but it wasn't decorated lavishly. It had floral print curtains in the kitchen, plain tile floors, and a normal coffee maker on the counter. The living room had a comfortable couch and a not overly large TV.

Overall, it was meant to be a home. It just lacked…a soul, really.

But of course, Ryan had his own room. He'd shown Helena his shelves full of books and comics, and a closet full of clothing and toys. Most of it, Grace had told her, had been brought over from the old house he'd shared with Becca. So most of his things were his. But there were some new additions, like the large stuffed dinosaur Grace had bought him, nestled on the couch.

"How often does Butcher come to see you?" Helena asked. She was very curious, even more so when Ryan perked up at the mention of Butcher.

"About once a month," Grace answered for him. Helena could tell by the look on Ryan's face that he wished it was more often.

"Well, he lives closer to you now, so hopefully he can make it up here more," Helena said.

"How do you know?" Ryan asked. He had hope in his eyes.

"Well, he lives with me," she said. And though she hesitated to reveal this, she felt she should be as honest as possible with Ryan. "He and I are sort of…together."

Ryan paused in setting down one of his red pieces to "king" himself. He was definitely winning the game.

"Oh…like dating?" he asked. He looked more surprised than upset, and she didn't know why that relieved her so much.

"Yeah, dating. Let's call it that," Helena said with a nod and a smile. It was hard to quantify her relationship with Butcher. Terms like "dating" or "boyfriend and girlfriend" seemed juvenile—both too much and not enough.

"So I'll be coming around more often to hang out with you, if that's okay," she said. "Help you with your homework, that kind of thing. Or if you just want someone to talk to…"

Ryan didn't know her that well. She wasn't sure how receptive he would be to her friendship. But she underestimated just how lonely he truly was, even with Grace. His eyes once again lit up with an imploring curiosity as he looked up at her.

"Would you…tell me more about my mom?" he asked tentatively. "When she was young?"

Helena's heart both grew and broke for him. Her smile was warm as she reached out and rubbed his shoulder.

"Yeah. Of course, hon. We can definitely do that," she replied. The smile Ryan gave her softened her even more. So much that she didn't even realize that he'd won the game of checkers.

She chuckled. "Good game, buddy."

"Want to go play outside while Helena and I talk for a minute?" Grace asked. It wasn't an order, but a suggestion that Ryan agreed to easily. Helena helped him clean up the game, and afterwards, she and Grace supervised him on the back porch while he threw a baseball in the backyard.

"He's still playing all by himself. He's too alone here," Helena remarked. He should be interacting with other kids his age, going to school, making friends.

"It's not safe for him to leave. You know that better than anyone," Grace said.

"So you want me to come and watch him when you can't. Is that it?" Helena asked.

"More than that. I could use your eyes on some other projects I have going," she said. "Records keeping, data analytics, reconnaissance. Basically, nothing you didn't do for Madelyn Stillwell."

Helena nodded. That sounded like a job she could do well.

"And you're really not telling Butcher about this?" Grace asked, raising a brow. Helena's lips pursed.

"Not yet. He seems to think I should lock myself in my room and never come out again."

Neither woman spoke for a moment as they watched Ryan hurl a baseball across the length of a football field, only to sprint down that distance to go grab the ball again. If nothing else, he'd tire himself out running back and forth.

"You know he came to me in order to find you," Grace said.

"Yeah, thanks for that breach of security," Helena replied, unable to curb a bit of snark.

"I advised him not to go see you," Grace said, "unless he was willing to give up Homelander."

Helena turned to her with raised brows. "He didn't promise that."

"He didn't," Grace confirmed. "But he was persistent. I warned him that he would compromise your safety one day."

Helena took that in with a deep breath. She didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful that Grace seemed to actually care about her wellbeing, but had also meddled in her life. At the same time, she didn't know whether to be angry at Butcher for selfishly pursuing her, or love him all the more for wanting to see her that badly.

Helena didn't know what to feel.

"Why did you bother warning him?" she asked, more petulantly than she meant to. Grace finally turned to look at her.

"If losing Becca didn't break him, losing someone else to this certainly would," she said plainly.

Helena stared into the older woman's eyes and saw the truth of her age. The shit she must've seen. And then Helena realized…if there was anyone else in this world that seemed to care about Butcher, it was Grace Mallory. Because she was absolutely goddamn right.

"Just keep that in mind," she added.

Then she called Ryan back inside.

Helena stayed to cook dinner for them, and even got pulled into watching the first Jurassic Park with Ryan. Something told her he was going through a dinosaur phase.

But whatever reservations she might have had about the kid, he was already starting to get under her skin—in a good way. He was so genuine and bright, and Helena could see Becca's influence in him. She saw more of Becca than Homelander in his dark blue eyes, in the softness of his chin, and his light brown hair.

And Helena knew she would keep coming back to see Ryan, partly for selfish reasons. Just as Ryan wanted to know what his mother was like in her younger, more carefree days, Helena also wanted to know what Becca was like as a mom; in the years she missed with her best friend.

But before she left for the night, she gave Ryan a hug and asked him for a favor.

"The next time you see Billy, don't tell him I came by, okay?" she asked. She would have to make sure she didn't visit on days that he came by too.

Ryan looked confused. "Why? Aren't you guys together?"

"Well, yes."

"So…you're gonna lie to him?"

He clearly didn't approve of that.

Helena sighed. How the hell do I explain this?

She sat back down with Ryan on the living room couch and pat his knee.

"Billy wants me to be safe, just like he wants you to be safe," she said. "But I have things to do too. I can't always be where he wants me to be. I'm going to tell him…in a little while. I just need some time."

"Are you saying it's not safe for you to come here?" Ryan asked in concern.

Realizing her mistake, Helena shook her head. "Let's just say…any time I leave the house is a calculated risk."

"But why? What happened to you?" he asked. The kid was so heartfelt, it almost had tears welling up in her eyes.

"I helped Butcher and his friends go up against Vought in order to save you and your mom. I quit my job there without them knowing what I did," she explained. "But if they ever find out, they're not going to be happy with me."

That just seemed to confuse Ryan even more. Helena didn't want to have to explain all the rough details to him. He already seemed to be worried about his new friend, so she laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry about that. Just know that I'm here for you if you need me," she said. She gave him her cell phone number to plug into his own phone (which only had Grace and Butcher listed in the contacts).

When Helena was finally on her way home, it was close to midnight. A few hours of driving, and bed, here I come, she thought.

But she was almost startled at her cell ringing. She fumbled for her phone in her purse, wondering if Ryan was trying out her number already.

It wasn't Ryan, however. It was Butcher.

Fuck!

He really had the worst fucking timing.

"Okay, it's okay," she told herself. "Be cool."

With a grimace, she sighed and connected her phone to her car and answered the call.

"Hey, baby," she said. "Finally I get to hear from you."

"Where are you? Sounds like you're in the car…at midnight? Where the hell are you off to?" Butcher asked.

"Hello to you too," she remarked. "Was feeling peckish. Decided to hit a Dairy Queen."

"Ahh. Going back to your double fudge ways, are you?" he teased.

Helena huffed. "All right, it's not that serious. At least I don't inhale cheesecake like it's my last meal."

"Cheesecake is a fuckin' delicacy in all its forms," he retorted. "Speakin' of which, we should hit the Factory when I'm back in town."

"And when will that be exactly?" she asked dryly.

"Tomorrow," he replied, surprising her. "We caught us another nefarious supe. Some C-level pyro who'd singed a few too many prostitutes, but we got 'im."

Helena smiled at the satisfaction in his voice. Despite her prior resentment, she was glad he was being productive, and working with Kimiko and Frenchie again at the S.A. (even if things still seemed to be strained between him and Hughie). He was getting an outlet for his supe vendetta in…more or less the right way.

"And is the supe still alive?" she asked, only a little bit skeptical. She hoped for the best, but was realistic about Butcher. He wasn't known for curbing his tactics when it came to bringing down his target.

"A bit banged up," he admitted. Helena rolled her eyes at what was likely an understatement. "But still breathing."

He sounded like he was telling the truth. She hummed in approval. "Color me surprised. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah well, Neuman runs a tight ship. All that bloody government red tape and all that," he said with a sigh.

Helena knew that part grated on him, but it was necessary, she thought. Catching the bad guy didn't mean they had to die for their crimes. Supe Affairs had made it possible for supes to be put through due process like everyone else. And it wasn't for Butcher to be the judge and executioner.

"Red tape is good for you," she replied knowingly. But then, a more vulnerable part of her rose to the surface at hearing his voice. "I miss you."

He was quiet on the line for a moment.

"Yeah," he eventually replied. By the weight in his tone, she knew it wasn't a dismissal. In the language of emotionally deficient men (of which she'd become fluent), it was actually his way of agreeing with her. Of acknowledging that he felt the same.

"See you soon," he said.

"Okay," she said with a smile. "Try not to kill Hughie in the meantime."

Butcher chuckled at that.

"No fucking promises there."

The next morning, Helena woke slowly to the familiar feeling of fingers running through her long hair.

That was just a bit disconcerting, considering she'd braided it the night before. But she knew the hands that were caressing down her back, then reaching back up to drag soothingly through her hair.

It was a morning routine she'd sorely missed. But now she smiled as she turned and found the culprit. Butcher was there to greet her with a slight smile, exhaustion in his eyes.

She frowned sleepily. "Did you drive all night? You didn't have to—"

Butcher interrupted her with a kiss. His beard scratched against her cheek, her chin, but she didn't care. Helena pulled him down by his hair and divested him of his black jacket, followed closely by the rest of his clothes. He did the same for her, helping her out of her tank top and flimsy sleep shorts and panties. Until he was hovering above her, finding his place in the cradle of her thighs.

He took a moment to brush her hair away from her face and sooth a thumb across her temple, her cheek, and down her bottom lip. Helena smiled up at him. He quirked a smile back and lowered down to press sensuous kisses where his hand had been.

He all but devoured her once he reached her lips, all while his hand moved down to cup her breast, eliciting a sigh as he rolled a pert nipple under his thumb. She gripped his shoulders tight as his mouth moved down as well, to the soft mound of her other breast. His tongue circled and teeth gently scraped, making a shiver run down her spine.

"Getting reacquainted?" she couldn't help teasing. Butcher chuckled against her skin. He released her from his lips and raised his head just enough to look at her.

"Gotta make sure they remember me," he quipped. Helena laughed as his head lowered back down and pressed open-mouthed kisses between her breasts, down her stomach, and finally between her thighs.

She made room for him there, as she did in all areas of her life.

But even afterwards, they didn't talk about what they'd each been doing for the past two weeks.

Or at least, neither one told the whole truth about it.